


We Were Young

by pawsdash



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Panic Attacks, Poor Bucky Barnes, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Psychological Torture, Reminiscing, Sick Steve, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 10:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17181134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pawsdash/pseuds/pawsdash
Summary: “I wish we could go back,” Bucky finally said longingly, “when we were younger.”This work is totally inspired by "Younger" by Swan Levitt





	We Were Young

**Author's Note:**

> soooo hELLO ALL LONG TIME NO SEE
> 
> I'm a uni student now and don't have much time for fics but this one sort of wrote itself from the song "Younger" by Swan Levitt which is BEAUTIFUL and reminds me so much of these two. I swear I'm not betraying Stony it's just... it's hard loving both of them so much. I will possibly be working on a new chapter of Lover Dearest or more works so HANG IN THERE and in the meantime, enjoy this ball of fluff.

It had been fifteen minutes of waiting, worn shoes scuffing against the wet pavement outside of the large apartment complex before Mrs. Rogers emerged from the quaint living space and drew her umbrella. She hurried down the steps, only taking notice of the young middle-schooler once she had reached her beat-up vehicle which Bucky could remember as once being cream coloured instead of the yellowy-brown it was currently. He waved a frantic hand because _damn_ , Steve was really taking a long time to get ready this morning and seeing Mrs. Rogers leaving the home so late was out of the norm. Also, Bucky couldn’t afford his own umbrella; all he had to cover himself was his grubby, soaked hat to mostly cover his hair and face. Otherwise, he was dripping.

“Where’s Steve, ma’am?” He called out, relieved when the woman took notice of him, carefully side-stepping past a large water-filled pothole in the driveway and frowning at Bucky’s appearance.

“Oh, James, you’re going to catch a cold! Hurry on to school, Steve isn’t coming today. I couldn’t get the day off to take care of him this morning, unfortunately.” She fussed, tugging Bucky’s coat up and managing to do up one button before the boy pulled away.

“Can I see him? What’s the matter?” Bucky pressed urgently, though it was nothing out the ordinary for Steve to be home sick.

“No, you’d best get to school, child. He’s come down with a cough and I’d hate for you to catch it. I really have to run to work but I’ll let him know that you said ‘hello’, alright?” She assured him, clearly in a rush with her panting breaths and hurried footsteps. Bucky nodded obediently, watching her slide into the front seat of the vehicle and rev it into gear. He waved politely as she reversed out of the driveway, not without hitting the pesky pothole and splashing water just short of his holed shoes. Until the woman was a safe distance away, he continued on his route to school, not turning on his heel and sprinting in the opposite direction until he was sure that the already-worried mother wouldn’t spot him peeling away toward the apartment.

Bucky knew exactly how to get past the locked door, having run- or rather, climbed- the route so many times. He rounded the brick building and spotted the same garbage bin, heaving a small foot up onto the side and pulling himself to stand on it. With a small leap, he grasped onto the ladder of the fire escape, the chin-up to climb up being no problem due to his still relatively small size. Past that, the trek was a breeze- though the wind was quite literally breezing directly into his face on this particular, stormy day and he had to turn away every so often to catch his breath. When he eventually had raced up the seven floors and crouched beneath a small window, the same familiar wedge of iron he’d peeled off of the rusty staircase was there. He wedged it beneath the pane and heaved sideways, hearing a small _click_ as the lock was unlatched and the window was easily able to be slid open. The young boy spilled out onto the wood floor, a wet heap of clothing until he was able to free himself from his wool coat and slam the window shut behind him, still out of breath from the journey.

“Steve?” He called into the almost-empty home, sneakers squeaking as he rounded the modest kitchen table toward the younger boy’s room. Surely as Bucky had expected, Steve sat propped up against a pillow, startling slightly once the door had popped open to reveal a dishevelled eleven-year-old. Something about just seeing that the boy he worried so much about was alive and somewhat-well allowed Bucky to breathe a sigh of relief. “Slacking off from school again?” He teased though it was met with a disapproving frown.

“Bucky! Why aren’t you in school?” Steve questioned weakly and Bucky’s grin fell into a deep expression of concern. The voice coming from the asthmatic chest was rattling, hoarse from coughing. Even with this fact in mind, Bucky forced another comforting smile to his lips.

“And let you skip out? No way,” he snorted with a satisfied smirk. It would hardly be the first time he’d skipped out on school to stay home with Steve- and he knew how much it bothered the other boy to know that he was part of the reason for Bucky’s bad grades.

“Well, take off your wet clothes and-“ Steve cut off into another fit of coughing and Bucky was running toward the kitchen in an instant, hopping up onto the countertop to retrieve a glass from the cabinet. He filled it with lukewarm water, something that wouldn’t irritate Steve’s throat, returning before the fit was over. “Thanks,” Steve managed, gulping down a few mouthfuls.

“Can you breathe?” Bucky pressed in alarm, stepping over to the bedside and placing a dirty hand onto Steve’s frail chest. Steve didn’t mind the gesture, but still balked at first, obviously not seeing it as necessary.

“Yeah, don’t w-worry about it,” he dismissed despite that the watering in his eyes was doing anything but quelling Bucky’s worries. He frowned deeply, propping up one knee on the bed in an attempt to clamber up. This was stopped almost immediately. “Bucky! Wet clothes off.” Steve ordered and Bucky looked behind him to sheepishly observe the wet footprints he had trailed all over Mrs. Rogers’ clean floor. He stepped back, toeing off his ratty shoes (the only pair he’d had for two years) and peeling off his socks along with them. He stripped off all of his clothes with no amount of self-awareness or consciousness, rifling through Steve’s sock drawer until he found a pair of boxers that he could squeeze into.

“You’re not going to put on a shirt o-or some pants?” Steve questioned hoarsely, a tone of disgust creeping into his voice. Bucky, clearly having a completely different idea of decency, shook his head.

“None of your clothes are gonna fit me,” he pointed out, scooping up the heap of wet clothes and laying them haphazardly over the heater.

“Don’t put your clothes on the heater, Bucky.”

“They ain’t gonna catch fire, numbskull, I’m watchin’ ‘em.” Bucky shot back, finally taking his opportunity to slide into bed next to his frail best friend. Like the boy he was, he almost immediately pressed his cold feet to the backs of Steve’s calves with a chuckle, amusement creeping into his smirk as Steve yelped.

“Buck! St-stop!” He protested and Bucky held there only for a moment before obediently drawing away.

“You’re warm,” he supplied in explanation, shrugging innocently and flashing a pouting lip to the other. Steve scoffed, shaking his head despite that he still took Bucky’s hands in his and pressed them together.

“You’re cold.” It was moreso an observation than a statement, drawing their entangled hands close to his cheeks and blowing softly on them. Bucky smirked his ever-conniving smirk and drew his hands out from Steve’s, using the movement to instead wrap his arms around the small torso and pull himself close. The boy was shivering, a bout of the chills having wracked him. Steve huffed out a playfully irritated breath and shook his head in disdain. Still, a sparkle came to his wide eyes and that was all the proof of “You’re gonna catch my cold,” he protested weakly though he leaned into the touch anyways, resting his head on Bucky’s bare shoulder. It wasn’t alien and it certainly wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for the two. Steve thought nothing of it and clearly neither did Bucky.

“I don’t care,” Bucky responded shortly, nuzzling his cold nose along Steve’s hot- too hot- neck. The pleased expression in his eyes quickly faded into concern as the boy’s body was wracked with another bout of coughing, heaving for breaths this time as if he would never catch them. Bucky rubbed a hand over his shoulder comfortingly, reaching to the bedside table with the other and grasping at the water. He drew the glass to Steve’s chapped lips, barely holding back a sigh of relief when Steve raised his feeble hand to the glass and took a few sips, calming his throat.

“I-I feel-“ he gasped and Bucky shook his head, shushing him quickly.

“Breathe,” he reminded the other, sucking in a deep inhale as if to demonstrate and Steve followed suit. After a few moments, Steve continued, his head falling slack against Bucky’s chest once again.

“I-I feel like I’m coughing up b-blood,” he commented dryly, though quickly refuted it with an, “I’m not,” when Bucky’s concerned expression fell deadly. “I’m fine, Buck. I’m gonna be f-fine.”

Bucky’s lips pressed together tightly and he released a puff of breath, lacing their hands together. “I’ll make sure of that. With ya t’ill the end of the line, right?”

Steve huffed in disdain once again, shaking his head despite that he still had a sparkle of affection in his eyes. “You’re gonna catch my cold.”

Bucky drew Steve nearer to him and snorted, leaning his chin on the top of Steve’s head. “I don’t care.”

——————————————

 

When Steve had first gotten Bucky back, the man had been completely non-verbal. A week later, they moved to short sentences or one-word responses. Now, six months later, he was finally beginning to piece together all of the parts he’d been left with. Sometimes, he told Steve, he would remember small things; the iris of someone’s eye, the taste of silicone in his mouth. Some days, he would perk up suddenly and proclaim something like, “Betty! Betty Sanders!” And go to scribble it down on a slip of paper so that he wouldn’t forget. Some days, he would slip a piece of fruit he’d never tried between his teeth and scrunch up his nose, swallowing it anyways.

Some days, he punched a hole through the wall. Today was one of those days.

Steve stayed in the same room as Bucky- not because of any taking advantage of his helplessness but instead by specific request. The man was afraid of the sleeplessness. So Steve stayed in his room, having moved both of their beds into the spacious room. So Steve slept in his bed only to have Bucky requests that he push their beds beside each other. Steve moved both of their beds together as requested. The room was far fancier than anything either of them had ever experienced in their younger days and they had even been placed in the older wing of the building. Even so, just the bathroom was large enough to fit both their family homes inside. All that either of them knew how to operate was the water flow, though they had been notified that there were many more functions to the bathroom, none of which Steve thought to be necessary.

Some nights, Bucky would wake up feeling refreshed and go for a run all on his own. Tonight, Bucky was nowhere to be found.

“Buck?” Steve called out, propping himself up on one elbow and rubbing his eyes once he had noticed the absence of the other in the bed. No response. “Bucky?”

A lump grew in Steve’s throat as he recalled the last time something such as this had happened, having to wake the others at such a late time only to help him in incapacitating the Winter Soldier. Some days, Bucky slept until 12 PM, then scarfed down enough breakfast for five people. Some nights, all it took was one nightmare to set the Winter Soldier free. Steve only hoped tonight was not one of those nights.

The room began to come into focus and Steve recognized the pattering of water on tile, something that sounded far off. He was out of bed within seconds, not bothering to pull on socks or pants and clad only in loose boxers and a white t-shirt. _No, no,_ he thought to himself, cursing himself internally for not waking up earlier. At least it was simple to get into the bathroom, Steve having ordered that the locks be taken off for safety purposes on all bathrooms surrounding their living space. Part of him expected to be met with a burst of steam, fogged mirrors and precipitation hanging onto the faucet. Instead, he was met with a cold chill and clear view of himself in the reflected glass as well as the image of a shower head pelting down ice water inside the shower stall. Bucky was in his usual position, slumped against the wall.

“Bucky, what the hell are you doing?” Steve questioned, a tone of anger coming into his voice though it was not meant to be directed at Bucky. The man squared his jaw when Steve pulled open the door, watching with dull detachment as the large hands closed over the dial and shut off the water. For a moment, water continued to drip down into the drain with a slurring noise, then pattered down onto the tile in a steady rhythm. Steve crouched down next to the still form, not minding that his feet dragged in the cold water that had pooled on the shower floor. “Bucky, you with me? Bucky?”

Bucky ground his teeth, gaze fixed to somewhere on the bathroom floor. It seemed for a moment that he was completely lost, somewhere catatonic as often happened. However, after a few beats, he nodded stiffly. Steve could hardly hold back a sigh of relief, thanking the heavens that he’d caught Bucky before the man had been hypothermic. He didn’t throw himself in a cold shower often- but it certainly wasn’t the first time that such a thing had happened. Despite his luck, Steve was still quick in gathering as many towels as there were in the bathroom and urging Bucky into a standing position, though he had to lean himself against the glass door to stay upright.

“Bucky, why do you do this?” Steve couldn’t help himself but to worry, a sick feeling creeping into the pit of his stomach. Though he didn’t wish to have such a tone with him, especially in the state he was in, he simply couldn’t stop himself. “Bucky, you need to-to wake me up next time! You’re gonna freeze.”

“I don’t care,” Bucky muttered with surprising clarity considering that he was shaking so violently. Steve paused in stripping off the man’s soaking shirt, sighing and continuing back to the task at hand which proved difficult when the wet fabric clung to his skin. With a final tug, Steve managed to free Bucky’s head from the clothing, wrapping a towel carefully over the bare skin before moving on to the boxer briefs. “I w-wanna be iced, Steve.”

Steve stilled his motions, though Bucky still diligently stepped out of the sticking underwear, allowing Steve to wrap the towel around his waist. The crouched man drew in a deep breath, mulling over the words in his mind. He braced his hands on the tile floor, collecting his feet underneath him and rising up. Once he had gathered himself, he forced a small smile to his lips and reached out to Bucky, brushing his wet hair from his face caringly.

“I’m not gonna let that happen,” Steve vowed quietly, resting both his palms flat on Bucky’s cheeks. “Listen to me. I’m not gonna let that happen.”

“You sh-shoulda left m-me in there, Steve.”

“Bucky, stop.” Steve’s tone suddenly became stern and he shook his head as if to reiterate this point. A note of panic, almost, showed itself there. His eyes were flickering back and forth, over one ear and then over the other, studying Bucky’s blue face. “Bucky. We’re gonna do this together, alright? I know it’s hard, I know-“

He was silenced not by an angry scream or a protest, but simply by a firm shaking of Bucky’s head. Immediately, Steve understood. No, no of course he didn’t know. Of course he couldn’t imagine how hard it was. Immediately, he just felt stupid. Bucky still didn’t meet his eyes, looking far off just past Steve and clearly in a foggy state- a state where he could barely think to keep the towel tucked around him, let alone speak a coherent thought. Steve’s lips pressed together in a firm line and he got to work, ushering Bucky out from the bathroom and assisting him in settling down on the bed. Bucky forgot about the towels, releasing them unconsciously though Steve hardly cared. When he returned from the too-big walk-in closet with an oversized (even for Bucky) t-shirt and slacks which would be easier to put on him, Bucky was only barely covered by one of the towels which was draped over his shoulder.

“Do you want to put these on or do you want help?” Steve asked, knowing the answer but always ensuring that the other was as consenting as possible for him before assisting. Just as he suspected, no response came. “Okay, I’m going to help you put these on now.” He announced, tackling the bottoms first. He slipped Bucky’s legs through the holes before urging him to stand for a moment, easily pulling them up over his hips and starting on the shirt. He flinched at first as he touched the freezing metal of Bucky’s not-arm, wincing as he thought of how it must feel for Bucky to be attached to something which conducted the cold so easily. Even so, he bit his lip and continued to work away, pulling Bucky’s messy head of hair through and awkwardly working his arms into the holes as well. When he had wrestled Bucky into a set of clean clothes, the wet ones discarded on the bathroom floor to be dealt with later, he gently pushed on Bucky’s firm chest in a nonverbal motion for him to scoot backward. When all that he received in response was a confused look, he clearly instructed, “get in the bed, alright?”

“In the bed,” Bucky echoed, clearly computing in his mind something that didn’t quite make sense. Steve couldn’t possibly blame him. Bucky got into these states occasionally when triggered, especially now that the cold had gripped him. “You… I am going to get in the bed.” Though he stated it out loud, he made no motion to show that he understood what it meant and Steve felt something in his heart break.

“Come with me, okay? I’m going to pick you up. Is that okay?” Steve settled on, exhaling a nervous breath. Though he knew Bucky would recover, he paled to think about the days which would follow, days of recovery from an episode like this. It was safe to say Bucky would be in bed for days. “Bucky, is it okay if I pick you up.”

There was no movement. Then, to Steve’s relief, he nodded slightly. Steve hooked one arm under Bucky’s legs and the other wound around his back, supporting him as he was lifted against Steve’s chest. Despite the weight of the other, Steve stepped fairly easily to the bedside, laying Bucky down gently and ensuring that he laid the man’s head gently against the wall behind them for fear that his catatonia would catapult his head back into the surface- as if he didn’t need any more to worry about. He pulled the duvet over at least Bucky’s legs, rounding the bed to get on his side. Once he was there, he slid himself into the covers and focused on wrapping up Bucky, tossing a throw over his shoulders and pulling the blankets up so that Bucky was almost fully covered. Still, he frowned when he touched the man’s skin only to have it come away icy cold.

“Bucky, do you want me to touch you?” He asked, ensuring that his words were clear and concise. He chuckled softly when immediately, Bucky nodded, fixing him with a look that screamed, _please,_ in a way that could be interpreted as something else if not for the person and the situation at hand. Steve wasn’t sure they would ever get to that point. Maybe someday, but it certainly wasn’t a priority. His priority, every time, was Bucky. Obediently, he moved himself to be flush against the other, pulling him to rest his cold, wet head against Steve’s chest. One of Steve’s hands carded through the hair there, hoping that the gesture would cause the tightness in Bucky’s muscles to unwind. Thankfully, just as always, the hold Bucky had on the blankets loosened and he fell slack against Steve.

“I…” Bucky began and, if not for his super hearing, Steve might have missed the vocalization. The man swallowed hard as if to gather his words, pulling together the strength to speak. “I… remembered waking up on th-the table a-and… you were there, so… big.”

Steve chuckled, a sensation of warmth coming over him at the idea that Bucky was recalling some fond memories and not simply all horrible, traumatizing things. In the quiet, Steve felt the man nuzzling into his collarbone, shivering momentarily before he seemed to feel the warmth from the other man’s body, relaxing into it.

“I r-remembered you wanted to go back there,” Bucky continued softly, voice breaking. “I remember I-I was so scared. You’d just saved me from… them a-and you wanted to go back.”

Steve swallowed down the knot that had welled in his throat, pushing past the sensation of being choked up. “But you trusted me,” Steve pointed. He hadn’t ever thought of what that trip back must have meant to his lifelong friend, the one who had been so ruthlessly tortured throughout his life. He hadn’t even asked back then. He didn’t ask if Bucky was scared, he didn’t ask if Bucky was afraid. “You trusted me and we saved thousands of people- in the end, we saved millions. _You_ saved them.”

“And then I killed just as many.” Bucky’s response was almost immediate, self-hatred creeping into his tone. “I shouldnt’a survived that fall.”

“Don’t,” Steve disputed in a warning-like tone. “Don’t say tha-“

“Because it’s true? It’s true, isn’t it?” His voice remained small and Steve couldn’t get up the nerve or the heart to raise his voice at the other. “That’s why I wanna freeze. I wanna go under and st-stop remembering these horrible things.” If Steve hadn’t known Bucky so well, he would have overlooked the crack in his speech. It wasn’t until he felt the collar of his shirt moistening that he knew how the other was fairing.

“You didn’t mean it,” Steve pointed, though it came out weak.

“You shouldn’t have to take care of me like this,” Bucky insisted in almost a whisper. “You shouldn’t have to. I-I’m sorry.”

There was a long stretch of quiet where all that could be heard was the various noises of outside. Far off- Steve could hear only because of his enhanced abilities, meaning that he knew Bucky could hear it too- someone was laughing. A group of people, it sounded like, were making their way around the building all too loud for such a time at night. The sounds of vehicles humming also filled the air, lights glinting through the shutters despite the technology which blackened out the window. These colors danced momentarily on the ceiling and Steve followed them, remembering how Bucky would use a small piece of mirror to reflect the sun onto the sidewalk and burn ants. Steve would protest and attempt to spare the ants, eventually giving up just to watch the boyish look on Bucky’s expression.

“You don’t remember, probably,” he began, voice whimsical in thought, “but you took care of me enough times when we were young. You skipped school one day, even climbed up to my window in the rain just to take care of me. You’d always leave before my mom got home from work so that she wouldn’t know that you’d missed school. You’d fetch me water and we would breathe together…” He trailed off, recalling the sensation of two small bodies pressed together, the chilly wetness of Bucky’s rain-drenched skin and the sickly heat of his own body. “You made me chicken noodle soup in bed and we would listen to the radio. I would tell you to go to school but you’d never listen.”

Bucky stayed silent, only sniffing in the quiet as he seemed to mull over the memory in his mind. Steve wasn’t sure if he remembered at all, but it seemed to have some sort of affect on him anyways. “I wish we could go back,” he finally said longingly, “when we were younger.”

Steve just nodded. They sat like that until Bucky said quietly, “tell me more about when we were younger.”

So Steve did- and Bucky’s shaking stopped.


End file.
